I love him
by Solanacea
Summary: Just some thoughts... (could be Max')...Please just read and let me know what you think


A/N: This is not strictly Dark Angel. Could be anybody else. Just a few thoughts Max could have shared somewhere in the first season. I won't say more. Just read.  
  
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I love him!   
  
I love him. I love him so much. I love him more with every second I stare at his neck, turned to me. Turned way from me, looking out of the window. And as strange as it seems, I hate him, hate him even more, the more I love him. For doing this to me. For doing this to himself. And anybody else, who cares.   
  
He's there, by the window, just a few steps away. But the distance seems impenetrable. The distance is like a wall between us. A wall built of anger. First and foremost anger, closely followed by frustration. At the world and at himself. Fury with his body which just won't listen to him anymore.   
  
I watch him, sitting there staring into nothing, still pretending there was something to look at. Instead he's trying to hold up the wall between us so desperately that it hurts. It hurts me. It hurts him. It hurts anybody else. But that's the only way he seems to be able to survive right now. The only way for him to get through the day and face another one in the morning. I'm not going to say anything. But I'm not going to say sorry. I'm not goin to pretend everything's fine right now, when it isn't. He has hurt me again. And I barely can take any more. I understand, I'll stay, I'll be prepared to be there for him when the time is right. But I won't say I'm sorry. I won't give in. I won't let him give in. He has to fight. Fight an inner battle, that no one but him can see. Maybe he cannot either. It's just raging on and on and on. I hope he'll win. I hope the man I love so much will win. I hope he'll not be lost in the fight. I fear he could be. It's tearing out my heart that I can't fight by his side. But he just won't let me. He can't. He needs to do this one all by himself. I have to wait. Until he returns home. Back to me, back to his life. I pray that he won't loose his mind on the way.   
  
I look at him and see him sigh. I see him twitch his neck and grab the wheels of the chair he'll be trapped in for life now. He is not going to turn back to me. He can't. He won't. He'd rather endure the awkwardness until I give in and turn away to leave.   
  
He's so stubborn. Always has been. Never needed anyone, let alone anybody's help. He's not going to accept it, he's telling himself.- He'll have to. I'm telling myself. But I'm not going to press. Let him find out for himself. It's a bitter lesson to be learned. For anybody. Even more for him. I'm not intending to be bitter-or mean. But that's the truth. He'll find out. Hopefully he'll accept it. Be able to live with it. Without becoming someone I don't know. Someone I don't want to know.   
  
I lose the fight against my common sense, telling me that I should just go. Leave him by himself. Give him time to mourn. Come to terms with what life has dealt to him. Now, that he was at his best-ready to go, to seize it all as they say. Being close to having everything he ever wanted.- Fate knows no schedules or rules. It just hits and runs. There's no giving back. No way of change. Take it and accept it. That's the way it works. Come to terms...Easier said than done. Everybody knows the theory. Some get to try it out. 'Handle what life deals to you. Be grateful for being alive-always, forever.' 'No bitter sentiments.' I shake my head to myself. What a big joke. Life is a battle. Sometimes it becomes a war. How much can you ask of someone- How much can a single person take. I've been asking myself that question a lot lately. The answer is simple. A lot. A lot more than you think you could. He has been through so much. But you never know if its enough. Some people break more easily than others. More easily than those who talk...He doesn't talk. That's what scares me the most. -Never judge a book by its cover; You might miss what's inside. -I look at him again. He doesn't show. But I know him.  
  
I can't hold myself back. I step closer. I stand behind him and touch his shoulder. He lunges his arm at me blindly and tells me to go away. "Don't touch me." He hisses. Like my finges are burning his skin. I step back, arms hanging by my side. His neck has tensed even more. He resumes his staring, always aware now that I could launch another attack any minute. He is on his marks, I can feel it. I lift my hand again. "Just go away!" he yells. I'm not moving. My eyes get wet. I tell myself to stop crying. But the more I tell myself, the worse it gets. My head is hot and my stomach is turning. I want to get out of there and at the same time I know I have to stay. I swallow and inhale deeply. Shakily. I feel like I can't breathe. The thickness of the small distance between us is suffocating me. I manage to lift my arm a third time. He just stares ahead. I step closer until I feel the back of his chair against my legs and I can't help thinking that he can't feel that anymore. He couldn't stand there in the first place. A wave of love and compassion rolls over me. I can't stop myself now. And I don't want to.   
  
I clasp my arms around his neck from where I'm standing. He can continue staring into the nothingness. I don't care. But he'll have to feel me. He'll have to stand my touch. Because I'll hold him until he understands. That he is not alone. That I'm always there and will never leave him. That I won't give up on him. No matter how often he pushes me away. I'll fight my way back to him. Until he understands. Until he sees that he means more to me than a perfect body. So what if he can't walk! So what if there are a lot of other things he'll never be able to do. It doesn't matter to me. He's part of my soul and I want him back. And I hope, he'll still want me. I close my arms around him. He tenses under my touch. He wearily tries to push me away. I hear him say "Go away." "Go away", again and again. But I won't leave him. I'll hold him even tighter. His voice is getting lower and lower ebbing into a small whimper, until he gives up the fight. I feel him relax in my arms and his hands leave the rim of the chair. They feel for my hands and squeeze them tight. As tight as he can. I feel something wet on my hands, before he can wipe it away.   
  
I exhale and press my cheek against his, while the tears are wetting my skin. We sit there in silence. Yet enough is said for the moment. Let this be our first victory, I plead. Let this be the first step.  
  
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